Losing My Religion
by Foibles and Fables
Summary: The dream is torturous and exactly the same, every single time. Cara deals with the unconscious. One-sided Cara/Kahlan


**Disclaimer: I do not own _Legend of the Seeker_. This writing is for entertainment purposes only and is not for profit.**

--

The dream must be symbolic of something, but her practical mind (not to mention the contents of said dream) keeps her from grasping whatever that something is.

All Cara knows is that it's torturous.

And that it's exactly the same, every single time.

The sun shines somewhere high above her, beating down on leather and skin in a way that should be oppressive. But she doesn't notice. She's far too preoccupied with the sights to feel the heat. It's a clearing, bright and beautiful; a ring of greenery provides the boundary of its limits. A pond and a small waterfall split the clearing at the middle, with the sunlight shimmering on its surface, magnifying the specks and throwing their sparkles into the air. Silence, besides the roaring water. With a slow breath, a quirk of the eyebrow, this all seems familiar – maybe it's a place she's been to before, a lifetime ago.

There's not much time to think about that, though. Like always, it's this moment that she realizes she's not alone.

Squinting towards the pond, eyes straining against the sunlight's watery reflection, Cara sees her. She's standing in the water, waist-deep, facing away from Cara, chin angled slightly upwards, as if studying the sky through her eyelashes. Her dark hair, loose and wild, shining in the brightness, falls to the middle of her bare back. Her arms are lowered and bent at the elbows, palms skimming the surface of the water as if testing its tension. A breeze ripples the pond, sends luminous curls tumbling into the air, exposing a naked shoulder and the side of her neck. Vulnerability and strength entwined. Surreal, sublime, and somehow Cara is vaguely aware that this isn't real.

But she can only stare, other reactions always rendered useless in this dream. Something inside of her stirs, looking for a way out.

Kahlan turns with the wind, looking over her shoulder, twisting her body just enough to reveal a single bare breast. She smiles– it starts small, close-lipped, but gradually transforms into a real one that shows teeth. Her eyes lock with Cara's. Her gaze is the familiar brilliant blue, but there's a different light to them, something new, something foreign to Cara's experience of her. Coquettish. Enticing. Her eyes are playfully narrowed. Cara steels her jaw against the urge to stop breathing.

She finishes the half-turn, standing naked to the waist, unashamed. Cara's heartbeat quickens as she takes in the sight of her breasts and her smooth, pale skin. Kahlan's eyebrows arch to match her smile as she extends her hand to Cara in the slightest way possible. Lips form soundless words, two silent syllables; their meaning is unmistakable to Cara.

_Come on_.

Kahlan's arm movement must have been hypnotic because Cara involuntarily heads for the water, heads for Kahlan. An order she's required to obey. Leading with her chest, she walks in long strides. Kahlan waits patiently, sharp eyes intent on Cara in a way that makes her stomach tighten. When she reaches the water's edge, she doesn't even stop to remove her clothing. She wades in, boots, jumpsuit, Agiels and all. The water's subtle coolness hints at the other side of the leather, a confusing sensation ultimately overpowered by raw arousal. Kahlan is within arm's length, now, still watching, still smiling.

Cara stops, pursing her lips, narrowing her eyes, furrowing her brow in a way that's carefully crafted to look dubious. She hopes her hammering heart, the very blood pulsing through her veins, doesn't give her away.

This is dangerous.

Kahlan closes the remainder of the gap, close enough for one of her knees to touch Cara's under the water. Her hands disappear to there as well, finding Cara's hips as her face hovers too close. Eyelids droop. For the first time, Cara realizes just how hot the sun is burning. Kahlan's breath is on her lips, quick bursts of gentle warmth.

They touch gently at first, more of a brush than real pressure. The second time hints at the real thing, and the third even more so, until somehow there are tongues involved. It's hard, fast, desperate, and their teeth click together roughly, almost painfully. Cara is too greedy when she yanks Kahlan closer by the indentation at the small of her back. But Kahlan does the same, pulling on Cara's waist, keeping their bodies pressed forcefully together, moving in sync with the kiss. Kahlan traps Cara's lower lip between her teeth and Cara wonders who this woman is and what she's done with Kahlan. Not that she doesn't enjoy it, of course. The corners of her mouth finally curve into a smirk against Kahlan's.

Cara loses herself in lips and tongue, sliding hands and gentle grasps – she suddenly becomes aware that she's naked, everything gone, and she has no idea where it went but she's in no state of mind to really care. Now she can really feel the curves of Kahlan's body against hers, slippery beneath the water's surface and soft above. The tension inside of her is rapidly approaching maddening, dull throbbing clouding her mind. Gasping breaths are worked in the tiny breaks of space between their mouths. Cara's palms skim over Kahlan's sun-warmed shoulders, fingers coming to rest at the nape of her neck, tangling in thick, soft curls. Kahlan's lips are on her neck, teeth gently grazing the skin, and Cara shudders with a sudden unexpected thought.

Oh, the things she would let Kahlan do to her.

The concept of _let_ itself is unfamiliar to Cara, much less in conjunction with Kahlan. But it's the way it has to be. Be touched instead of touching. As much as she dislikes it, at least Cara is allowed to lost control, even if she has to do it alone.

So she tilts her head back in reluctant acquiescence, closing her eyes at the sensation of Kahlan's open mouth on the column of her throat. Kahlan grasps one of Cara's breast, wet thumb slipping against her nipple, causing Cara to bite her lip in determination not to give Kahlan the satisfaction of a powerless vocalization. Her thigh, smooth, muscular, slick underwater, rests between Cara's and this time she can't help but let out a tiny groan of heated frustration. It's extremely difficult to get good footing in the water; it's not enough force where she needs it. So she arches her back, digging her heels in to stabilize herself, pressing into Kahlan as hard as she can.

Apparently amused, eyes laughing, Kahlan slides her hand down Cara's stomach and cups her between the legs without preamble or any sort of warning. Again, Cara bites down hard, shivering as Kahlan just holds her there, feeling. Cara squints, struggling to hold Kahlan's dark gaze, a battle she loses completely when Kahlan traces tiny circles with two fingertips right where Cara needs them. Her mouth falls open as hot tendrils curl in her stomach, radiating outward until her skin is burning, vibrating, aching right along with the source. Kahlan's face is so innocent when Cara's head tips backwards, and she still hates this, the awful helplessness, the hindered reflexes, the foggy mind; for a moment, she imagines herself hissing viciously, shoving Kahlan away, and instead doing these things to _her_.

But that's impossible, and not only because her arms have gone completely slack.

So she takes it, both loathing and loving it as Kahlan's pattern and rhythm suddenly stop then change, almost drawing a moan from Cara's mouth. Two fingers slide effortlessly into Cara, she thinks hard enough to tighten her muscles around them, silently showing that she still holds some control here. It's satisfactory; a chill courses up her spine and back down again. She's ready. She squeezes her eyes shut as Kahlan's hand begins to move, reaching deeper and deeper with each repetition. Tingling heat spreads, but it's not enough. Cara swallows her pride and lets something between a moan and a growl tumble from her mouth. Harder. Faster. If she's going to let Kahlan do this, Kahlan is going to do it right.

Though the request was undeniably inarticulate, Kahlan somehow understands and becomes more reckless, pace quicker, bumping against Cara outside and in, fingers curving to all the perfect angles until Cara's breath hitches. _Right there_. Kahlan is relentless, then, maybe proud of her work, and Cara thrashes violently, trying to get decent leverage with her hips underwater as they work with Kahlan's fingers of their own accord. She finds one of her legs wrapping around Kahlan's waist. Kahlan grips the inside of that thigh with her free hand, digging her nails into supple flesh. Cara's fingers fist in Kahlan's hair, and she hums low in her throat.

And it's finally so _good_ and she has Cara on the edge, chest heaving, back arching, trembling and shuddering with utter need for release. The pressure is too much to bottle up, and Cara throws her head back, tossing blonde hair with wet tips behind her. Almost…

Kahlan stops.

It takes a moment for that fact to register in Cara's cloudy mind. Disbelief when it finally does. Then, pure anger. She snarls, forgetting about pride, eyes snapping open to glare at Kahlan.

But the anger gives way to unease when she sees Kahlan's face. Deadpan, hard jaw, heavy gaze. A Confessor's face. A streak of icy trepidation sneaks out and bolts through her veins, mixing with the frenzied passion that's still threatening to consume her.

Keeping one hand buried between Cara's legs, the other moves to her throat. Cara freezes.

A moment of impasse. Kahlan's considering, calculating. Cara's heartbeat pounds in her ears, muting the roar of the waterfall.

Slowly, Kahlan's lips curl into a tiny smile.

There's a sudden pulse in the air, a ripple, a disturbance. Cara watches as blackness reaches outward from Kahlan's pupils, overtaking the blue iris. She's still smiling as it happens.

Cara goes rigid, every muscle tensing. The pond disappears. Bright light blinds her.

For an instant, it's the most wonderful thing she's ever felt.

--

Her eyes snap open, only to be immediately assaulted by pinpricks of awful sunlight. She's panting, sweating, sprawled on the ground, and it takes her a second to remember where she is. She smells morning air and wet logs of a fire that's been extinguished for a long time.

The dream, again.

Cara takes a deep breath, collecting herself. Her blanket is shoved to the side, tangled around one leg. She must have been thrashing around. Her hair is stuck to her face and cold sweat beads at the back of her neck. Her leather, unzipped to the navel, feels like it's cleaved to her skin.

Another moment passes before she's aware of the pulse between her legs and the stickiness she feels there when she shifts her weight. The heat warns her, swelling and sharpening.

Damn it.

Slowly, she sits upright, smoothing her disheveled hair to no avail and doing her best not to exacerbate her aching arousal. Nobody else is awake yet. Next to her is Richard, slack-jawed in deep sleep. The length of Kahlan's arm runs along his on the other side, and Cara forces herself to look away from her face. Zedd is somewhere around here, having taken the last watch.

She knows she has plenty of time.

Standing on quaking legs, she heads away from the campsite in a brisk walk, deeper into the woods. If they woke and she wasn't there, they'd figure she had just gone hunting. Besides, she thinks with a sigh, it's not like she hasn't disappeared to take care of this before.

Cara forces herself onward, deeper into the trees, looking over her shoulder every so often at the camp shrinking in the distance. A bit farther, to be safe. She does not want to be discovered.

The dream is torturous and exactly the same, every single time. It means something. But what? The obvious answer is that she wants Kahlan. That she wants something she can never have, for quite a few reasons. The dream's ending is proof enough of that.

But, if it's hopeless, she obviously can't _do_ anything about it. Nothing but this.

The helpless, loathing feeling bubbles up again, only making the throb between her legs stronger. Scowling, she stops. This is far enough. She can hardly see the spot where the others are sleeping.

She lowers herself to the ground, resting her back against the trunk of a tree, feet flat on the soft ground, knees bent. She winces, so tightly coiled, heat evaporating from her skin. With one final breath, she goes to work. The dizzying need to work fast and fumbling fingers conflict until she's yanking violently at the zippers and buckles of her leather, trying desperately to gain access to the bare skin underneath. When she does, she yanks a glove off with her teeth, quick and ferocious. She wastes no time in placing her hand between her legs, fingers quickly becoming coated in the sticky wetness left over from the dream.

Swallowing hard, she starts touching herself the same way Kahlan had in her dream. Fingertips work quickly, rolling over that spot. Her muscles tense, twitching under stress. She keeps going, persistent.

Her first orgasm comes almost immediately, her body already on edge, already ultra-responsive to the touch. It tears through her, ripping her apart at the seams, and she lets out a pathetic whine she hopes nobody will ever hear; she bites back the name that threatens to escape with it, because that would just do nothing but hurt. When the shuddering, paralyzing spasms stop, she collapses. She sits there for a moment, body limp, taking heavy, shaky breaths, allowing her heartbeat to regulate again.

With an exasperated sigh, she realizes that it wasn't enough. The ache is still there, unsatisfied by a single attempt. She curses under her breath, grimacing.

"Come on," she mutters to herself, pushing two fingers inside. Rough, forceful. There's a wisp of pain. She bites her lip, closes her eyes, allows her head to loll, arches her back; she imagines that her fingers are Kahlan's, moving inside at all of those angles, recreates the touch, pleasure inside and out; she imagines the Mother Confessor's smirk, her wet, warm hand curved around her throat.

And she begins to work her fingers, hissing through her teeth.

Of course, there's guilt, or at least the closest thing to it. For Kahlan, for Richard, for herself. She can't stand having to do this. This is not control, this is not discipline. This is giving in. This is a sign of weakness, a vulnerability, and so many other things Cara has learned not to express.

But this is also the only option, besides infuriating distraction.

As soon as she's finished here, she'll shove this dream back to where it came from, trapping it in the darkness. She'll forget about it until the next time she falls asleep and finds herself in that clearing. Pack it away. Can't think about it. No trouble after a Mord-Sith's training. Agonize noiselessly. Don't let it interfere.

She chalks it up to it being a long time since she last had someone. She chalks it up to the scorching air. She chalks it up to everything it's not.

She chalks it up to just another night turned day.


End file.
